


I'm worn in and you're comfortable

by braver



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braver/pseuds/braver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t think being lazy is ever a good thing, but Niall proves him wrong because of course he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm worn in and you're comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone enjoys cuddly Narry, or at least, I do?

“I’m lazy,”

They’re lying on Harry’s king-sized bed, doing nothing useful (or nothing at all). When Niall finally looks Harry’s way a few seconds too late, Harry’s resigned to scrolling through his phone through half-lidded eyes, like he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I’m lazy,” he says just as Niall snuggles back into the mattress, and Niall  _groans_.

“You already said that,” he mutters through white linen and lavender-mint and lazy lips. 

“But  _I am_ ,” Harry’s whining now and Niall’s pretty sure he feels green eyes trained on him but he can’t be fucked to look at him again because he’s just found the perfect position on the soft mattress, and being comfortable is important, damn it.

“Mm,” is the only reply he offers the younger boy, earning another whine in return.

“Niall, I’m going to remove my trousers,”

“Mm,”

“Niall, I’m going to remove  _your_  trousers,”

“Mm,”

“Niall - ”

“Mm,” Niall swats a hand pathetically, aiming for Harry, really, but landing nowhere near him. Both of them know that Harry’s threats about stripping their trousers off (since when was that a threat though?) are useless because lethargy’s sunken so deep in their bones and Harry’s jeans are discarded at the edge of the bed anyway, so.

“Niall,” Niall realizes that Harry’s shifting restlessly and  _totally on purpose_  and Niall grunts because the bed’s moving and he’d rather it  _didn’t_.

“Niall,” now Harry’s grabbing at his short bleached locks, twisting and turning and playing until he’s got the brown roots showing and tufts sticking up in all directions, “ _Niallniallniall_ ,”

“Stop it,” Niall groans but he really means  _don’t stop, please_ , and Harry’s pouting at nothing in particular because he’s not used to Niall ignoring him and also because no one should ignore Harry Styles  _ever_ , but he can’t even will his own lips and tongue to move and whine so he gives an unnecessarily hard tug on a bit of blonde instead.

“ - ow, hey!” it’s Niall’s turn to shift and whine but Harry just smiles (or half smiles because he’s a lazy fuck) because blue meets green in a sort of staring contest between nearly-closed eyes.

“I’m cold,” Harry complains after a brief silence, because it’s fucking freezing and  _just because he can_ , and Niall murmurs something that Harry decides to take as an agreement.

“Can you turn the temp down?” Niall asks; they’re both lying on top of the layers of comforters and blankets and can’t be bothered to actually get off the bed and slip under the covers (also because Liam had just fixed the bed, for some reason; Harry kind of really hopes it’s not because he and Louis had sex on it while Harry was out).

“No,” Harry finally replies, and Niall stares pointedly but shrugs,  _okay then_.

“Besides,” Harry opens his arms as an invitation for a good bit of cuddling, but Niall shakes his head and makes grabby hands at him because  _like fuck he’s moving_. Harry stares for a while but takes up on Niall’s offer because he’s cold and goosebumps are prickling his skin at lightning speed and maybe he deserves to be the little spoon sometimes, okay. He rolls lamely into Niall’s reach, cuddling into his arms. His head sneaks to the comfortable spot right beneath Niall’s chin, his nose to his throat, fingers clutched at the soft and familiar material of Niall’s jumper. He curls his toes and buries his socked feet between Niall’s ankles, and hums contentedly as Niall pulls him flush against his chest.

“Warm,” Niall says as he presses his face into Harry’s curls (much,  _much_  better than any pillow).

“Nice,” Harry nods.

“Yup,” Niall says in reply because apparently their conversation has taken a turn for the monosyllabic. He looks down at Harry and watches the lad’s cheeks dimple, and he wonders how he got so lucky.

“ _You,_ ” Harry breathes and before Niall says anything else (or ruins the moment because that’s what Niall does), Harry’s got his lips pressed against the older boy’s. 

They try for a good bit of snogging then switch to soft, lingering kisses, but eventually decide that it’s too much work and too much tongue and  _way_  too much spit (which Niall later on claims is Harry's fault because, _excuse me_ , Niall's a great kisser), and settle on maybe keeping their lips together and breathing each others’ air instead. 

They want to laugh because it’s so stupid, really, but apparently they’re too lazy for even that (which is saying something because Niall laughs at  _everything_ ).

Harry instead takes in the warmth, and the tangle of limbs, and the  _Niall_ , and he can’t help but think that,  _well fuck_ , aren’t they just the perfect fit. 

But of course his bladder ruins the moment because Harry’s suddenly got that annoying tingling feeling in his gut, and of course his bladder does. He groans and Niall makes a questioning noise (which shouldn’t be so adorably high-pitched, but).

“I need to pee,” Harry explains and Niall lets out a short chuckle.

“Well, go on,” Niall says but Harry feels his arms tighten around him.

“Lazy,” Harry says as if it’s a legitimate reason, and practically  _purrs_  as he feels Niall’s hand curl round the back of his neck and his fingers find their way into his hair.

“Just don’t pee on me,” Niall mock threatens as he rubs at the sensitive spot of Harry’s scalp, smirking when Harry shivers and whimpers and melts into him.

“I’ll try,” Harry says between contented sighs, and well,  _fair enough_ , Niall thinks.

Harry then ignores his bladder and settles against the sheets and the pillows and warmth and Niall, missing the disgustingly fond look in Niall's eyes when he buries his face further into the comfortable crook of Niall's neck.

"Hey," Niall says into his hair, nose nudging the soft curls and palm rubbing slow circles against the small of Harry's back.

Harry barely looks up, hiding his smile against Niall's jumper, "Hi,"

“I love you,” Niall whispers and Harry almost blushes at how uncharacteristically _sweet_ Niall sounds - almost.

“Okay,” Harry manages to tease, smirking against Niall’s throat, which in turn earns himself quite the harsh smack on the bum - which quite honestly, is the most work Niall’s done the whole day.

“I hope you wet the bed, you fuck,”

Harry rolls his eyes but snuggles closer anyway, “You’re gross,”

 

\---

Niall actually  _shoves_  Harry off the mattress when he nearly wets the bed a few minutes later ( _“I told you to fucking go already, you idiot,”_ ), and Harry feels that he should be more offended or something but there’s only so much his bladder can hold, so. And when he re-enters the room, Niall just  _looks_  at him in a way that makes him feel like a jittery pre-pubescent girl (butterflies and all that), and Harry considers pouncing but his bones feel too heavy in his skin. So he just drags himself back into Niall’s arms, and marvels at how comfortable everything is. 

“Maybe we should just be lazy all the time,” Harry concludes, because this (snuggling and keeping each other warm and being useless in general, he means) is just really  _nice_.

“I _am_ lazy all the time,” Niall looks down at him with big blue eyes and a smile just for him.

Harry just smiles back and, well,  _good_.


End file.
